


the less I know the better

by harmlessthings



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Clubbing, Drinking, M/M, gay clubs, hooking up with strangers, kent parson fucks strangers because he's sad, mega short i was sad, no actual mention of jack wow look at me go, random hook ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 04:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18731980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harmlessthings/pseuds/harmlessthings
Summary: If there was anything to be said about relocating out to the desert, it had to be the relative ease of anonymity in Las Vegas. Kent was ever grateful for the steady flow of strangers who always seemed to leave their inhibitions in whatever quieter city they had come to escape from.





	the less I know the better

If there was anything to be said about relocating out to the desert, it had to be the relative ease of anonymity in Las Vegas. As if those out-of-place nighttime streets were waterways flowing in one direction; faces who would pass through, never to be seen upstream again, but you could throw yourself amongst the current to be swept way, just for a little while. Just when you needed to. So Kent was ever grateful for the steady flow of strangers who always seemed to leave their inhibitions in whatever quieter city they had come to escape from. 

On nights like tonight he was always sure to keep away from any of his usual spots with the team, and though the rush of people tended to condense around the Strip, Kent knew there were other places to go. Places where people were looking for something in particular, and when people came to Vegas they often came to sin.  
God help him.  
The lighting is almost non-existent, the musty, stale smell of spilled alcohol staining the bartop Kent leans against now. He’d have thought it stupidly cliche a few months ago, the scene of zealous, unabashed men, younger and older, pressed together in corners or openly grinding on a filthy, slapdash dancefloor in the darkness. But Kent had learned to take his own pleasure in the obscurity of it all.

With no thought to training regimes or rigorous on-season diet restrictions, Kent starts on another gin, lets it warm him as he looks out from the bar. Soon enough he spots a guy weaving out from the dancefloor to rejoin a group. He’s not much taller than Kent is, slim, collarbones daring out under a drooping neckline in a way Kent is sure is deliberate. Dark hair long enough to be pulled back though with all his dancing Kent can see more than a few strands have come free, Kent is already itching to know what it might feel like between his fingers. From his body language Kent figures he’s not picking up any of the other men he’s with, probably friends - so Kent lets his eyes linger, waits to catch his gaze, holds it there with a subtle but unmissable tilt of his head. 

It takes no time at all for the man to saunter over.

“Hey there” 

“Hey yourself” Kent half turns to face him, legs splayed on the stool deliberately as he gives the guy a long, appraising glance. 

“What’s your name?” The young man leans beside him easily, half draped at the waist on the edge of the bar.

“Carter.” He lies easily, and if the guy suspects anything he doesn’t let it show. Identity could often be little more than a cursory veneer in this city. Kent rather enjoyed being nobody. 

The man pulls Kent’s drink from his hand smoothy, and he lets it go, he’s paid more than an overpriced glass of gin for a good fuck before. Instead opting to watch the way his head tips back and his eyes dip low to keep locked on Kent’s as he downs the last of the drink. 

“Isaac.” He replies, setting the empty glass down.

Before long and without too much perfunctory flirting, Kent is following Isaac out of the club, asking for the name of his hotel and punching it into Uber as Isaac leads him into an alcove to wait for the ride. Hands already on one another, grasping without pretense. Under the relatively improved light of streetlamps, though, the sultry expression across the other man’s face turns to vague recognition. 

“Hold on, aren’t you–” 

“No.” 

“Hey it’s not a bad thing, I don’t watch sports or anything but he’s fucking hot– you look heaps like him.”

“I get that a lot.” Kent finally gets his hand around the back of Isaac’s neck, threading harshly into that long hair and pulling down decisively. He guides the other man’s mouth to his own, ending the line of questioning by way of tongue and teeth. Feeling Isaac’s body curve into his, Kent leans back against the other man, free hand pressing into the sharpness of his hip. Isaac’s hands fall against Kent’s shoulders, run across his chest down to his waist, roaming almost desperately to pull Kent’s body closer against his own. 

Kent’s phone dings with the impending arrival of their Uber. If Isaac were to have any extra curiosities Kent is sure to send them off-course with a promising hand wandering along Isaac’s inseam. 

It seems a suitable plan, given when they arrive Isaac is interested in little other than getting Kent on the other side of his door and pressed back against it, dropping to his knees like he’s been waiting all week for it. Kent can barely see the other man but for the familiar light of his city coming through the window to cast a slight glow over them. The angle obscures Isaac’s features exactly, so Kent settles back against the cool door and satisfies his own curiosity through touch - scratches his blunt nails across the other man’s scalp, pulling the loose hair tie free completely and tangling the hair through his fingers as Isaac makes hasty work of Kent’s belt. 

In the early hours of the next morning, when Kent slips out and walks along the Strip – looking as different as it ever does in the daytime – he won’t remember the details of the guy’s face, having never really taken them in in the first place. Kent might remember his angled frame with those sharp hip bones. He could remember his insistent hands and his eager mouth and the taste of his skin under Kent’s own mouth. But not much else. 

And if he’s lucky he’ll only be memorable in the same way.

**Author's Note:**

> I just spend a lot of time thinking about Kent Parson being sad and in denial and reckless (and a hoe)  
> Poke me and maybe i'll actually write the smut that gets skipped over here >.>


End file.
